


Punch and Puncture

by ivynights (incantatem)



Category: Social Network (2010)
Genre: M/M, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-12
Updated: 2011-12-12
Packaged: 2017-10-27 05:54:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/292350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/incantatem/pseuds/ivynights
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When they’re in private, Eduardo calls Mark coração.</p><p>(Vampire!Mark/Human!Eduardo)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Punch and Puncture

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [this](http://tsn-kinkmeme.livejournal.com/6467.html?thread=12267843#t12267843) KM prompt

When they’re in private, Eduardo calls Mark _coração_.

It would be an inside joke between them, but Mark knows Wardo is anything but joking. Besides, with Wardo, even Mark indulges in pet names every once in a while. He can’t help it.

Mark knows he isn’t classically good-looking, not like Eduardo is, but it doesn’t matter. It isn’t what he looks like that matters, but what he can do. And what he can do, both as vampire and coder, seems to hold sufficient appeal.

The sex is fucking _fantastic_. Mark has no idea how they resisted hooking up all last year. The attraction went unacknowledged, simmering under all their interactions. The first time Mark had been alone in a room with Eduardo once school started up again, he hauled him in, kissing him fiercely and Wardo had looked the best kind of shocked. They’d barely stopped ever since.

In the back of his mind, Mark notes that there's snow in his flip flops. It's of no import, not compared to Wardo and not compared to the brainwave he had earlier tonight.

He throws open a heavy door with more ease than anyone watching him would expect, and makes his way through the dark corridors, instinct guiding him.

Mark can hear him before he enters the room. He’s become hyper-attuned to the beating of Eduardo’s heart, the steady pound of blood rushing into his arteries, returning through his veins. True, it might be Mark’s own - metaphorical this time - heart that makes him sure he can hear Eduardo’s apart from the rest of the herd but his sense of smell confirms the thought. A slight overlay of sweat - it’s hot, in the room - above a citrus scented cologne and Eduardo’s own musk.

He opens the door to the party and experiences the usual sensory overload that accompanies any venture into the public sphere. Awful music, bright lights, ridiculously erroneous video montages. It’s one of the reasons why Mark prefers to stay in his room, wired into his laptop, Eduardo curled up on the bed behind him. It had been his natural inclination when alive and, with death, the urge to isolate only intensified as his sensory perception improved.

Everything else fades into the background as soon as he spots Eduardo, hunched around Dustin and Chris, their Hawaiian shirts passively parodying the entire concept of hedonism. (And Mark isn’t against the concept of hedonism; he may seem like a workaholic but no vampire is against pleasure for pleasure’s sake.)

They’d met at an AEPi party, one similarly banal to Caribbean Night. Mark had been standing in a corner observing the crowd, idly puncturing his wrist one tooth at a time out of boredom when a skinny kid in a pristine suit came hurrying up to him with a wad of napkins, crying, “You’re bleeding!”

In the present, Mark pauses for a second, considering his approach. This is a big moment; he’s had the one idea that will be his legacy. thefacebook; it’s brilliant.

Eduardo locks eyes with him before he even gets close. He seems to always know where Mark is, something Mark still isn’t quite used to. He’s only human, he can’t have any special abilities, but Eduardo always seems just as attuned to Mark’s presence as Mark’s senses allow him to be for Eduardo.

Mark wonders about this sometimes. He’s heard rumors of blood bonds, of self-created soul mates. Usually this occurs after decades of fluid exchange but, he can’t help but think, if anyone is special enough to beat the odds, it’s the idiot doing a bizarre shuffle-dance over to him right this second.

Before Mark can begin to explain the idea he knows will change both their lives, Eduardo interrupts with a string of the words Mark least expected to have to deal with tonight: “I got punched by the Phoenix!”

Wardo’s eyes are especially huge.

Mark imagines his heart stops momentarily; it would have. He doesn’t know if its a supernatural creature thing or just a Zuckerberg one, but he’s become even more possessive lately. Protective over what is _his_. And that includes Eduardo. The fucking Phoenix SK club is trying to put a claim on Wardo?

Mark doesn’t think so.

His mind flits around and he reaches a decision. The website can wait one night, after all, Mark’s got eternity; tonight, Wardo needs to remember who he belongs to.

“C’mon,” he mutters, reaching out and grabbing the bones of Wardo’s wrist tightly, dragging him along, “We’re going outside.”

Mark isn’t sensitive to the cold anymore, but based off Eduardo’s reaction, it’s harsher than he realized. He leans against the brick and watches Wardo, the florescent light above them contouring the panes of his face. Eduardo's skin goosepimples as he shivers and he hops up and down a few times, trying to warm up.

“It’s freezing out here.”

“Come here then.” Mark crooks a finger at him and Wardo steps close automatically.

“What is it? What’d you want to tell me?” Wardo’s breath puffs out cold in Mark’s face. His breath smells sweet, like spiked Hawaiian punch. His eyes look so sincere. Wardo should really stop being so trusting. People will take advantage of him. Not Mark, of course, but in general. They’ll have to work on that. It won’t befit him, in the future.

Mark reaches out, wraps one hand around the back of Wardo's neck, briefly, before sliding it up into his hair, tugging it to one side and elongating his neck. Mark eyes the tiny healing dots littering the tan skin. He doesn’t heal his puncture wounds, sometimes, when he’s feeling petulant. Wardo doesn’t cover them up and Mark has no idea how he explains them away.

Wardo’s pupils dilate. By this point, it’s a Pavlovian response.

“You’re hungry,” he says, “Why didn’t you say so?”

Mark says nothing, just trails the fingers of his other hand up Wardo’s neck, searching for his pulse. He finds it and presses down hard.

“Mark?” Eduardo breathes out, voice slightly strangled.

“More fun this way,” Mark says. He keeps his incisors covered and presses his lips to Wardo’s pulse point, marking him up. There’ll be a bruise there tomorrow.

He pulls Wardo’s head back up straight and presses up on to his toes, Eduardo bending down to match the distance, lips colliding. Wardo’s hands grip the back of Mark’s shirt, pressing them together.

Mark slides his tongue along Wardo’s teeth, tracing all the lines and ridges, measuring out the distances, imagining the changes. Wardo knows what he’s doing and lets out a little moan.

Mark pulls back a fraction, one corner of his lips pulled up into a smirk. He drops back to his feet and spins them around, preternaturally fast, until he has Wardo backed up against the brick wall. He frames his face with his hands, tilting his neck to the side again, and lets his teeth drop down.

“Wait, you’re seriously doing this here? You don’t want to go back to the suite first?” Wardo’s eyes are bright now, color high in his cheeks, mouth fallen open.

“Why not?”

“Why not? We’re in public! What if someone sees?”

“It’s freezing, no sane person would come out here now, you said it yourself. Besides, I don’t care if they see. Do you?”

Wardo shivers involuntarily.

Mark tilts his own head so they face the same direction. This part is important. “Wardo,” he says impatiently, “do you?”

“ _No_. No, Mark, god, no.”

Mark’s grins shows off all of his teeth.

“Good.”

He pecks Wardo on the corner of the mouth before he slices into Wardo’s long neck, swiftly, cleanly. Things will get messy enough in a minute.

He sucks, lapping lightly at first, then pulling deeper, harder, as the blood starts to flow more freely. Wardo’s hands spasm and then clutch at Mark more tightly. A keening noise emanates from his throat.

Mark pulls one hand away to paw at Wardo’s cock. It’s as hard as expected, a damp patch already forming at the tip, pre-come leaking through his shorts. He looks down briefly, twisting to get their groins aligned, exhaling hard when they rub against one another.

Blood has started dripping down Eduardo’s neck in elegant streaks. Mark traces their line with his tongue and then captures Wardo’s lips with his own, sharing the taste, smearing the liquid between them.

He breaks off again and goes back to his bite. Wardo’s breathing out in quick, shallow gasps. His heart races arrhythmatically.

Eduardo whines high and long, twisting under Mark’s grasp, stretching his skin and writhing like he just can’t reach an itch to scratch.

“God, Mark, please, _please_.”

“Those Phoenix assholes don’t deserve you, you hear me? They’re nothing. They’re shit to you and me. Inconsequential.” Mark can't stop the flow of words.

“But you said - even _you_ wanted to -”

As he pulls back to speak, Mark realizes it’s started snowing again, white falling down as Wardo’s blood drains out. The contrast is lovely. There are snowflakes stuck in Eduardo’s long lashes.

“I know what I said, but that doesn’t matter now.” And it doesn’t; Mark can’t believe it ever did, not when he’s about to embark on something so, so much bigger.

“What?”

“I’m headed somewhere much bigger than the world beyond the bike room, Wardo, and I’m taking you with me.”

He sinks back into Wardo for a final taste, even as they rut against each other, faster now, uneven.

“Don’t you know where you belong, Wardo?”

“ _Yes_.” Eduardo unclenches one of his hands from Mark’s back and runs his palm along the line of Mark’s cock, straining against his jeans, helping him along.

“Where?”

“With you, Mark, god, only you.” Wardo’s voice is breathless and cracks in the middle, hitches, as he climaxes. Mark cups his dick again, feeling the rush of heat as Wardo’s come streaks the inside of his briefs.

Wardo turns his head to get at Mark’s lips and they kiss again, a final time, bruisingly. Mark rocks against Eduardo another one, two, three times before he’s coming, hard and hot.

Mark pulls away, satisfied.

Wardo’s lying limp against the wall, his head tipped back, eyes closed as - Mark can hear - his heart rate slowly winds back down. The snow has melted straight thought his socks, there’s come all over his shorts and a few last drops of blood slide down his neck. His lower lip is swollen, stained red. Mark slides a thumb across it and murmurs, low, “Come on, sweetheart, let’s get you back to the dorm and clean you up.”

Wardo just sighs, letting out an _mmm_ and leans into the touch, before pulling away from the wall. He takes a couple of steps, already starting to shiver again, before pausing and looking back at Mark. His look is questioning and still more than a little dazed.

Mark gazes at him for a moment, thinking, before he catches up and wraps an arm around Wardo, palm steady in the small of his back, a reversal of their normal pose.

thefacebook will be his legacy to the world but not his masterpiece, not his magnum opus. That will be Wardo himself, Mark thinks, guiding Eduardo back down the snowy path, away from the grabbing crowds. Maybe he’ll turn him after they launch the site. Although, he thinks Wardo may want to wait until graduation. Mark may be willing to grant him that. After all, they'll have forever. Either way; soon, it’ll be soon.


End file.
